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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506912">Aha</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ficlet, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:33:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel is suspected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Aha</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, every once in a while, when Glorfindel is in <i>just</i> the right mood and the weather’s near perfect, Imladris seems almost as beautiful as Gondolin. Many might find that sacrilegious, and in other moods on other days, Glorfindel might think so too. But then the light will hit the trees <i>just right</i> and make all the ripe blossoms in the garden seem to glow, and he’ll hear a new breed of bird sing its ephemeral song, and he’ll see the most beautiful creature of all emerge from the Western wing. He’ll stop along the cobblestone path twisting through the lush green grass, and his eyes will catch on dark hair rimmed in vivid sunlight. Deep blue gems in sleek silver jewelry will glisten, violet and lavender robes swaying with each graceful step. Erestor’s handsome face will captivate him, and he won’t wish for Valinor any longer, because paradise is where he’s standing. </p><p>He dons a welcoming smile as the subject of his glee approaches, stopping just before him—Erestor squares up to full height and pierces him with a stern, careful look. Glorfindel isn’t taken aback, because Erestor is so often strict, and Glorfindel enjoys him just how he is. He offers no greeting, simply asks, “Did you take one of the wine bottles from the kitchen, the ones set out for tonight’s feast?”</p><p>Glorfindel arches one golden brow. Few others would dare ask him that—dare accuse him of <i>thievery</i>, of disrupting Erestor’s precious order. But Erestor has long since gotten past the starry-eyed reverence so many others pay him. In a way, it’s refreshing. Glorfindel isn’t the famous Balrog-slayer of song when he stands with Erestor, merely another guest of Lord Elrond’s exquisite hospitality. Though he knows it won’t win him any favours, Glorfindel counters, “How could you ask me such a thing?”</p><p>Erestor’s eyes narrow, likely noting that that’s not <i>really</i> an answer. But Glorfindel holds up under the scrutiny, simply smiling under Erestor’s heated attention. In a way, it’s thrilling to be fixed with such intensity. He’s often thought that were Erestor not so inclined to scrolls and council meetings, he would make an excellent warrior. Or perhaps that’s just Glorfindel’s base instincts talking—wishing for a bare-chested, fierce Erestor in the training yard, ready to forcefully come at Glorfindel and be tackled down in return. </p><p>When Glorfindel gives no other answer, Erestor adjusts his strategy. He steps back and takes a long, sweeping look up and down Glorfindel’s body, eyeing the robes stretched taut across his chest and tied tight around his waist, neither bulging with hidden bottles. Then Erestor comes forward again and reaches out, taking a few long strands of Glorfindel’s blond hair into his hand. He twists the lock around his fingers, tugging just enough for Glorfindel to <i>feel</i> it. Erestor’s eyes linger along Glorfindel’s bow lips, and he murmurs, “On another note entirely... you are looking particularly handsome today, my friend.”</p><p>Glorfindel often hears that, no more today than any other. But he gives no protest. If Erestor should find him attractive, then he’s pleased. He doesn’t care about the circumstances. Erestor suddenly leans forward, tilting his head slightly, nose brushing Glorfindel’s cheek as he parts his lips. They press into Glorfindel’s, chaste but insistent, and a shiver runs through every fibre of Glorfindel’s being. </p><p>He doesn’t care how abrupt and out of character the display of very public affection is—he presses eagerly back, lips automatically opening. His hand rises to tangle in Erestor’s silk-smooth hair, pulling Erestor forward by it, crushing Erestor against him. He lets Erestor’s tongue slither into his mouth and surges back, chasing one wet, messy, <i>wonderful</i> kiss after another. Erestor’s lips are incredibly soft, Erestor’s mouth delightfully warm, the feel of Erestor’s lithe body against him utterly exhilarating. Glorfindel’s had entire rounds of love making that aroused him less. In that moment, if Erestor were to part them and ask, Glorfindel would admit to absolutely anything if only for the chance to continue. </p><p>Except when Erestor pulls back, he doesn’t ask anything, simply snarls, “It <i>was</i> you.”</p><p>Dazed, Glorfindel blinks. He tries to lean forward, but Erestor jerks away, moving out of reach and forcing Glorfindel’s hand to slip from his hair. His eyes burn hot, but not in the way that Glorfindel hoped. “I can taste it on you. And I want you to know that if you were not a lord, I would drag you by the ear back to the kitchens for it, and I would have you apologize to every member of the staff forced to compensate for your selfishness.”</p><p>To anyone else, Glorfindel would merely laugh—one missing bottle is not much, and the cook was happy to give it to him when he batted his eyes are her. He’s not surprised she didn’t give his name up, but her valiant efforts couldn’t save him from Erestor’s keen tactics. Faced with that accusatory gaze, he can only offer, “I am sorry.”</p><p>Erestor lifts his chin. He’s tall, but no more so than Glorfindel, and it doesn’t have the condescending affect that he might like. But it does let Glorfindel know that he’s in a world of trouble. Erestor informs him, “You will still be allowed to attend the feast tonight, if only because Lord Elrond will be displeased if you do not.”</p><p>Somehow, despite being above Erestor’s station, he feels compelled to say, “Thank you.”</p><p>“But you will not be allowed to attend my bed this night or any other until the leaves have fallen.”</p><p>Glorfindel’s usually suave air immediately dissolves. He looks at Erestor agape, convinced he hasn’t heard right. They’ve only just started the season. The leaves are new and pink and firmly attached to their sturdy branches. He’s tempted to fall to his knees and cling to Erestor’s robes, sob and beg for mercy, for that is a fate too cruel. </p><p>Erestor can be a cold-hearted creature of as much resolve as allure. He sniffs and turns, huffing off without another word—he’s already made his declaration, and once he’s done so, he never takes it back. </p><p>Glorfindel’s left alone in a state of near catatonic shock. Suddenly, the languid morning spent sipping wine on his terrace is a bitter memory he’d give anything to undo. Erestor turns into the far building and disappears from sight, leaving Glorfindel weak-kneed without him.</p><p>But Glorfindel is a survivor. He’s resourceful and strong. He looks towards the nearest tree and wonders how many strokes of his blade it would take to leave it barren. Elrond would not be pleased to find out, but Glorfindel is desperate. </p><p>He returns to his quarters, first to shamefully return the half-empty bottle to his most treasured friend, and then to retrieve his sword and set to work reforming nature.</p>
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